Sentinels Against the Dark
by Ciel
Summary: Inspired by Misty's "Lammas Night" collection, I wrote this on the same basis as the others in the collection were written. A young wandering mage is offered a place to stay in a village, but her cottage is haunted. Will she resurrect or banish the spirit


**Sentinels Against the Dark**

_-Ciel, 2001-_

  


  


The woman took a deep, shuddering breath. Now was the moment, the time. Outside, the moon hid her face behind a shroud of clouds, as if in fear of the decision to be made this dark night. The branches of the stark, bare trees, their leaves ripped viciously away by the cruel storm, pierced the sky like black daggers. Wind howled, rattling the open shutters, stirring little twists of dust within the cottage. None stirred within the circle on the stone floor within, however. No wind disturbed the five candles set at the points of the pentagram drawn within the circle, at the center of which the woman stood. She called forth the Power, and prepared to cast her last spell, and even as she whispered the beginning words of the chant, she wondered how the night would end, for her decision was not yet made.

All this had started about a month ago...

  


Caerwyn stumbled, cursed softly, and used her staff to regain her balance. The crystal globe embedded in the top of the staff glowed with a steady green light, impervious to the storm that raged around her, or the thick, sloppy mud that dragged at her boots and the hem of her sopping robe. A shape loomed up out of the gloom, so suddenly that she nearly ran into the wall of the building. It was an inn - she could make out a sign swaying creakily in the wind. With a hastily uttered thanks to whatever deity had answered her prayers, she pushed the door open and stumbled inside, dripping rain and mud all over the clean wood floor, and trying to look as regal as possible under the circumstances. She must have succeeded, for the innkeeper who came to take her wet cloak said nothing about the mud or the wet, just ushered her to a table, took her request for a drink and something hot to eat, and left with deferential silence. She wrung out her long, dark hair while she waited; she figured that it wouldn't hurt to add a bit more to the puddle already forming beneath her, and she'd do some working or other to make it up to the innkeeper before she moved on.

He returned soon, with a mug of hot cider and a steaming bowl of stew; she thanked him, and set in with relish. She was eating for more than just herself, now... though that was a well-kept secret. She got a room when she finished, and stripped out of her wet things gratefully. Her hand brushed over her belly, slightly curved, in a seemingly casual gesture, and she wondered... wondered. But now was not the time for such thoughts. She brushed her raven-wing hair out until it was only damp, and went to sleep. Little did she know what morning, and the events triggered by her decision then, would bring...

She looked up from her breakfast as a strange man came in. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with blue eyes that sparkled kindly beneath a heavy brow. He approached, and waited for her nod of permission before taking a seat across from her. "Milady," he began hesitantly, "you are of wizard-folk, yes?"

Caerwyn glanced pointedly toward the crystal-topped staff leaning against the wall, which marked her clearly as such; no common person would dare to carry such an instrument. "Yes."

The man hesitated, studying his broad hands on the table, and then looked up at her again with entreaty in his eyes. "Milady, we are simple folk, and none of us magic-gifted. Our wizard... he died nearly a year gone, and we have none to protect us from the creatures of the Dark which stir. He wove spells to bind them away from us, and did well, for none within the village were harmed while he lived, but they stir again now, and we have no one to hold them back this time." The man shrugged, uncomfortable under Caerwyn's knowing eyes. "Would you consider staying, milady? We will provide for you full well, I assure you. And... his house and books are yours, milady, if you'll only remain. And anything else within, of course."

Caerwyn felt the temptation of the offer, but it would never do to appear too eager. Instead, she tilted her head, cooly. "Why did he die?" she asked, voice calm, showing no hint of her thoughts. "And who are you to make me such an offer?"

"Oh, milady, forgive me! I am Danlen, the headman of this village. As for your other question, however..." The man shrugged, helplessly. "We do not know how he died, milady. There were... stirrings, in the house, that night. In the morning, one of the women found his body, lifeless and bearing the strangest marks... She left only long enough to get some of the others, but when they returned, he was gone."

"I see." Caerwyn leaned back, still cool and composed. "And you wish me to take his place?"

"Yes, milady, if you would." The man was trying to hide his desperation, but it was there; in his eyes, in the nervous wringing of his hands.

"Give me time to think," she commanded. "I will consider it."

"Thank you, milady!" He seemed pleased that she hadn't refused him outright, and rose without bothering her further.

Caerwyn spent the day acquainting herself with the village, and she glanced at the cottage that had belonged to the former wizard, and would be hers if she accepted the offer. It was a nice place, surprisingly large; she supposed it had probably been built for a family, not a single bachelor. As she worked various small spells for the villagers, in return for coin or food, she considered the offer, turning it over in her mind. The land here was nice; sea, forest, and mountain all met together, creating quite a powerful magical reservoir, with three of the four elements in great abundance: water, earth, and air. The people were kind, and generous, if deferential to her status. She was tired of being the plaything of the weather and the seasons, and besides... she had another to consider. By nightfall, she had made her decision, and informed the headman. He lavished thanks upon her, and offered to have some of the women help her settle in, but she declined, wanting the work of her new home to be her own.

She slept first, in the former wizard's bed, and came morning, set to dusting, cleaning, rearranging. She packed up his things and stored them in the loft; someday, she would go through them, but for now, she wanted to make the place her own. His books she left out, though. When she had finished cleaning, by midafternoon, she set to browsing through them. He had a wide collection, a veritable treasure in his library, and she was delighted by the tomes.

Over the next couple of days, life began to settle into a routine. She performed some of the more important tasks for the villagers, and then set about discovering what it was that the headman, Danlen, had spoken of - the creatures of the Dark. Somehow, she acquired a shadow - a young woman of few words, very shy, who appeared at her elbow my second day in the village, and proceeded to offer silent assistance even before she asked for it from then on. She never disturbed Caerwyn, seemed to know exactly what she meant whenever she asked for something, and never complained, so the mage had no reason to send her away. Indeed, she was a great help. Her name, Caerwyn learned, was Isolde, and she was not from this place. She had come here a few years ago, and settled in a little cottage just outside the village. She was very quiet, and very shy, and no one knew very much about her, but she was kind, and the children liked her.

It was Isolde who followed her out to the place where sea and mountain and forest all met, where the elements met and mingled and Power was strongest. Isolde, however, remained at a healthy distance, simply watching, and waiting if assistance was needed. Caerwyn slipped off her boots and stood, barefoot, one foot upon the soil and one in the sea. She closed her eyes, and _reached._ Power was here, in abundance - power of Light, and of Darkness. But there was a taint to the west, within the forest, and she guessed that whatever was there was what the villagers feared. Drawn toward it, she opened her eyes, and moved closer. With a cautious probe, she reached out her magic - and snatched her mental "hand" back just in time as something vicious and powerful reared up and tried to grab hold of her Power. Eyes wide from the unexpected encounter, she backed up a few steps, to find Isolde at her back, taking hold of her arm and giving silent support. She was surprised; this small, willowy woman, fair and quiet, was much stronger than she looked - inside as well as out.

Caerwyn pulled away after a moment with a vague smile of thanks, and braced herself. She'd have to think further on the matter, and soon, but for now, she had to build something immediate to contain the Thing. She closed her eyes again, but this time, did not reach _toward _the Dark Power, but rather _around_ it. She drew on the elements that were here, and wove them into a powerful net to contain its malice. It realized too late what she was doing, and by then she had it bound... for now. Air, water, earth, and the fire of her own will mingled to make the strands which wove its magical prison. When she finished, and tied the last knot in her net, it stood alone, and the Thing could not break free... yet. It was safe for now, at least.

She went back to the cottage, and Isolde returned home. But something was different as Caerwyn stepped over the threshold. The hair rose on the back of her neck; there was Power here, but none she could "see". Just.... a feeling. A sense. Telling herself not to be foolish, she kindled the fire, and began to heat what was left of a stew one of the village women had made for her. She set the table for herself, and got one of the books she'd been reading through. It was a history of this area, and it was fascinating; the place where this village sat had not always been peaceful. Apparently, the forest had a reputation for spawning creatures of the Dark, but the people appeared to endure through it all. It was amazing, she thought, the resiliency of the human spirit. She set fresh bread on her plate, and served herself stew from the kettle. When she turned back to the table to sit, she froze. Upon the plate, next to the bread she had just set out, sat a single white lily... a spring flower. It was early autumn, not spring. At the edge of her vision, something moved, but when she whirled to look, there was nothing - nothing at all - there.

She forced herself to sit, and eat, but she started at every sound, and continued to catch a glimpse of movement where nothing was, always out of the corner of her eye. That night, she dreamed, and it was a dream she had had before... at least, at first.

She stood in a mist, but it wasn't cold. Everything was white, all around, white and misty. She felt arms, strong and warm, come around her from behind, and endearments she could almost hear were murmured in her ear. But this wasn't her Alec... she pulled away, and turned to face him. He was a stranger, fair-haired and grey-eyed. But she knew him, with the same surety that she knew her own name. "Conlath," she whispered. "You lived here." By here, she meant in the house she now inhabited. He was the wizard who had died. He couldn't be much older than she... he was homely, certainly not handsome, but his eyes were kind. At least, they looked so. 

He moved forward, and cupped her face in his hands. His touch was warm, but somehow vague; as if he weren't completely there. "Caerwyn," he whispered. "I have waited for you." She closed her eyes, and felt his lips against hers.

"Why?" she asked, finally finding the will to break away from the warmth in his touch. "Why me?"

His smile was sad. "One soulmate, my love. Only one." He began to fade, the white mists of the dreamscape rising up to obscure him from her sight.

"No!" she cried, anguished. "No, don't leave me alone again! Conlath, wait - come back!" But he continued to fade, and she woke with tears drying on her cheeks. She turned her head, and saw a single white lily on her pillow, gleaming softly in the morning sun.

Caerwyn continued with her duties. Around the village, and in her explorations into the forest, trying to find a way to deal with the Thing of the Darkness, Isolde shadowed her quietly. In the cottage, while eating or studying Conlath's books and her own, again trying to find some way to deal with the Thing, she was shadowed by something else completely. She could only see him out of the corner of her eyes, never directly, but she knew he was there. He watched her, and he was always near. She felt a brush of warmth across her neck, a tingle on her lips, and knew it was him. She should have been afraid, and she was, in part. But there was also a part of her that longed to reach out and embrace him, to give herself to this unseen lover who courted her. And in her dreams each night, he was there. She never remembered the details in the morning, but there was always a fresh white lily on her pillow when she woke.

In this fashion, days passed, and then weeks. But something had to be done. Conlath grew thinner and more sallow every time she saw him in her dreams; he was in pain, and it was visible even to her. His shadowy presence grew fainter, and the power she had felt when his spirit first stirred faded. And still she did not know the true nature of the spirit which courted her in dreams and shadows. Was he true, or were his gentle endearments all lies? Could she trust him, or did he lure her to evil? Could she put aside the memory of Alec, so soon, to accept this love he offered so freely? And what good would it do her to love a ghost, anyway? So many questions... and the child within her grew. Her pregnancy did not show as with some women, however; with the loose dresses and the mantle she wore in the crisp autumn air, no one had noticed her bulging belly.

  


Caerwyn added another book to the growing pile on the table and dusted the shelf it had been on. She was tired, and decided to take a break; she picked up the history she was reading, a new one now, and sat. She bumped against the pile, though, and the volumes tumbled to the floor. With a muttered curse, she bent to pick them up. As she picked up the last one, something slipped from beneath the pages. She reached out, and picked up a single white lily, that must have been pressed within the heavy tome before Conlath died, for it was dried and brittle, yet still beautiful. The book, as she took a second look at it, was nothing remarkable at a glance. Bound plainly with leather, the script within written in a fine, neat hand in blue ink. She paged through absently, until she noticed the _kind_ of spells that were here. This was a book of elemental spells - her specialty - and most of them were extremely powerful. This was nothing to play in. And yet... an idea occurred to her. She flipped through, searching for a certain spell she knew must be there. Yes! There. The spell for banishment of spirits. She scanned the words of the chant; yes, they were familiar. If she cast this, she could release Conlath at last, let his spirit soar free to the other side. She would never need know if he were evil or true; either way, this spell would release him from-

A breeze stirred in the closed room, and the pages began to turn. Caerwyn's heart pounded; it was hard not to fear a ghostly presence in one's own house. She felt that whisper of warmth across the back of her neck, and looked down at the page. At first, she was puzzled, for the spell looked the same. But at the top... it was labeled as a spell to rise the dead - specifically, the mage-born dead. She scanned the words of the chant again, and this time she saw the difference: one word. A few letters upon the page, a whisper of breath on the tongue, made all the difference between summoning and banishing.

_We could be together._ The thought whispered through the room, through her mind, and she knew not whether it was her own or someone else's. _Together, my love. We can finish this._ It was not her thoughts. Definitely not. And yet... she heard them, just barely. Just a whisper, or the echo of a whisper. _Set me free._

She slammed the book shut hastily, and rose. Which to cast? She had only a few days left, before she must choose, for both spells demanded that they be cast upon Lammas Night, the darkest night of the year... and it was only a few days hence. Both were dangerous, to caster and to spirit; she had to do one or the other, though. She couldn't continue to live with a ghost in her house, especially one who grew ever more pained-looking in her dreams. 

He continued to leave blossoms upon her pillow, and he came in her dreams, but she remembered even less of them now than she had before. In the morning, when she woke, all she remembered was that she had dreamed again of him, not what had taken place. And Lammas Night approached.

  


And that was how she had come to be standing here, in the center of her pentagram-and-circle on the cottage floor, one candle for each element, and one for the forces of Light and Darkness. Neither of the spells she must choose between were of the Light or the Dark; they simply _were_. Their alignment came from the use their caster made of them, not from the spell itself. She wore a loose white dress, her dark hair flowing free. The words poured faster from her lips, now, matching the rhythm of the storm, and within her, another force began to stir and struggle. The first pain hit her like a blow to the gut, and she faltered before picking up her chant again desperately. To stop now - oh, no, she couldn't. It would kill her for sure, for the forces she had called up would be released uncontained, and would lash out at her and everyone nearby. No, she didn't dare. She gathered her strength and resolve, and continued the chant. The Power gathered around her, swirling and waiting her command. Sweat sheened her forehead and upper lip, but she continued on.

The second contraction came. She gasped, but didn't stop. The Power was there, now, strong. She walked a tightrope, a knife edge, between Light and Dark, and before her, a shadowy figure took form. Familiar features she could almost make out, sunken cheeks and eyes full of pain from the torment caused by this manifestation. The third contraction; she dropped to her knees, but continued to chant. The storm raged. She raised her hands, holding them out toward Conlath; he stretched forward, but their fingertips missed by a few inches, his outside the circle, hers within. _Forgive me, Alec,_ she thought desperately, as another wave of pain hit her. _I did love you, but not like this... not like this._ And she whispered the final word, on a gasp of pain.

The Powers she had called broke loose. Time froze, and Caerwyn collapsed to the floor. The Power joined with the storm, and everything _twisted_ for a heart-stopping moment. And then...

_Caerwyn, do not. Not for me._ The thought came through to hers. _You did not have to-_

"I love you," she gasped. "I... need you. Together, we can... banish the... Dark." The pains were coming faster now, closer together. She doubled over with a cry of pain, and used the last of her strength to weave a protection against the Powers that raged around her, a protection for the tiny life that fought to come into this world on such a night. A life passed on, a life was freed, and new life came to be. Over the raging storms, a new wailing rose.

A fair-haired, willowy woman slipped through the darkness and the fading storm, the rain flowing around her but not touching her, and stepped inside a small cottage. Within a circle and pentagram, a woman's body lay. Isolde stepped forward, passing through the protective circle as if it did not exist, and gently picked up the two tiny bodies lying within, both still glowing with their mother's last protective weaving.

  


Peace settled over the little village. Although there was no practicing mage, Isolde had learned some healings from Caerwyn - or so she claimed - and could tend to the ills the people suffered from. There was speculation as to the origin of the newborn twins she raised, one fair-haired and one dark, but she was so kind and quiet that no one asked. Perhaps they were hers, and perhaps they had come from somewhere else; it didn't much matter. She loved them as a mother would, and they were sweet and strong.

And as for the Darkness in the forest... it never bothered them again. For where sea and earth and air all met one another, the fire of magic added the fourth element and a pair of guardians sprang from the Powers and wove their magics together to bind the Darkness. If one ventured deep into the forest and was very, very quiet, sometimes an echo of a whisper could be heard, or a murmur of laughter on the breeze. And always, the ethereal lovers soared together on the wings of their passion, together for eternity, Sentinels against the Dark.

  



End file.
